Memories of the Gallery
by pingo1387
Summary: Sanji has a nightmare of his time in the gallery before the others arrived. One-shot, continuation/ending of Visit to the Gallery and Return to the Gallery.
**Hey, this one-shot is a finale, the third in a trilogy, if you will, for a couple other stories I wrote. The first one is Visit to the Gallery (** **/s/10691515/1/Visit-to-the-Gallery) and the second is Return to the Gallery (/s/11262517/1/Return-to-the-Gallery). Please read those before this one!**

* * *

"Keep my lighter for me until I catch up, Nami- _san_ ," Sanji murmured. "I promise, I will catch up. I just . . ." He hung his head. "I need to . . ."

"Sanji- _kun_!" Nami cried as the image of Zeff began leading Sanji away. "No, don't—!"

He continued walking, not looking back as Nami was pulled through the mural, still crying, _No_ . . .

"Knew I could count on you," the image of Zeff said, leading Sanji down the hall and around the corner. "Everyone's just around the corner, eggplant."

Sanji did not look up, but he murmured, "I'll get to . . . see them?"

"Yeah, that's right," the image replied. They continued walking. "They've missed you, brat. Place isn't the same without you."

"Hm . . ." Sanji sighed. "I . . ."

He hesitated, and they came to a stop. The image of Zeff used one hand to make Sanji look up; Sanji did not resist.

"We're almost there," he said, grinning. "There's just one last thing to do."

Sanji gave him a single, expectant nod, and waited.

A hand came forward and plucked the blue rose from his pocket.

"No need for this," the image said, tossing it away. "Right?"

"Yeah," Sanji said dully. "No need for . . ."

He trailed off and his brow furrowed.

"You . . ." he murmured. "Owner . . . Zeff . . . ?"

"What is it?" the image said.

Sanji narrowed his eyes. "No. You . . . you're . . ." He backed up a step, shaking his head. "You're . . . you're not real. You're not real!"

He shook his head again, vigorously, and looked around.

"Shit, what the hell have I been doing?!" he exclaimed. He looked back, but the image of Zeff had vanished.

"Nami- _san_ —shit, Nami- _san_ , she told me to stay and I didn't listen—what kind of a moron am I?!" he yelled. "Nami- _san_ , I'm coming!"

* * *

"Finally," Sanji muttered, standing in front of _Fabricated World_. "Nami- _san_ , I'm catching up, just like I promised, don't worry—"

He reached out and touched the painting. Nothing happened.

"What?" he said. "No, no, this is—"

He felt all around the painting, checking the frame, examining every detail of the canvas—but nothing changed.

"No," he muttered, stepping back. He clutched his head. "No, no, _no_ —Nami- _san_ , everyone, I—this can't be happening—"

He felt his pocket; his eyes widened and he looked down.

"Shit, my _rose_ ," he hissed. "Is that why I can't go through? Either way . . . gotta get that back . . . where was it?"

He turned and strode down the hall, looking around desperately.

And then he felt a stabbing pain. He felt his face and his hand came away spotted with blood.

He quickened his pace.

Along the way, turning corner after corner, more and more gashes appeared on his body. The blood stained his clothes even further, and it was becoming harder to walk.

"Shit," he hissed, stumbling. He supported himself on the wall with one shaking hand and coughed into his other, staring at the fresh blood on his palm and then at the blood dripping onto the floor.

"Just gotta . . . get my rose," he muttered, moving on and using the wall for support.

The hallway seemed to flicker around him.

"Get my rose . . . find a vase . . ."

Blood dripped into his eyes.

"Then . . . it'll be . . . okay . . ."

His eyes fluttered and he fell against the wall, sliding down like a ragdoll, leaving dark red streaks behind. He ended up with his back to the wall, one leg drawn up to his chest and one bent on the ground in front.

"God . . . damn . . ." he whispered. The pain was almost too much to bear. "Nami- _san_ . . . Robin- _chan_ . . . Luffy . . . everyone . . ."

New trails of blood wormed down his face, now joined with tears leaking from his eyes.

"I'm . . . sorry . . ."

And with that, the last of his consciousness slipped away.

* * *

Sanji's eyes flew open and he sat up, feeling his legs and wincing. He looked around—he was still in the hall where he'd . . . where he'd . . .

"I'm alive," he murmured. He stood and checked himself over. No blood to be seen, and the stabbing pain had left him. Briefly he wondered if it could have been a dream, but the bloodstains on the wall told him otherwise.

"My . . . rose," he said. "It's . . ."

He plucked his rose out of his pocket. The pristine petals held a brilliant blue.

"Did someone . . . heal me?" he murmured. "Doesn't explain where the blood went . . ."

He shook his head and stowed it back in his pocket. "No matter . . . as long as I've got this, I can go back . . . right?"

* * *

" _Why?!"_

Sanji kicked the frame of _Fabricated World_ in blind frustration, for the mural remained stubbornly closed.

"Let me _through_ , you goddamn painting!" he yelled. "The hell's your problem?! I've got my rose back, what more do you want?!"

He hadn't managed to put a single crack in the frame the entire time he'd been there, and he soon dropped his foot, feeling his jacket absently. He found his pack, but . . .

"That's right, Nami- _san_ has the lighter," he murmured. He looked up.

"Nami- _san_ ," he said. He smiled. "Of course, Nami- _san_ , Luffy, everyone—they know I didn't make it back, they'll come back sooner or later!"

He sighed in relief and gave one last look to the mural.

"In the meantime, though . . . I should look for another way out."

* * *

Sanji strode through hallway after hallway, becoming more and more agitated with each step. The layout of the gallery seemed to change before his eyes—he would enter a room and find the outside completely changed upon exit.

"How the hell am I supposed to get anywhere if I can't even have a mental map?" he muttered. "With something like this, I might as well be as bad as that damn swords . . ."

He came to a halt and frowned.

"Swordsman," he said aloud. "Right."

He pressed on, but some kind of dread began to fill his mind. There was something wrong with this whole situation—not just the shifting layout of the gallery, either.

Of course, that was it—the paintings hadn't attacked him. He'd passed countless Ladies and headless statues and even a few mannequin heads, all while on high guard, but none had made a move to hurt him. In fact, come to think of it . . . the Ladies had smiled and waved to him, and one of the headless statues had offered a hand as if asking for a dance.

As he realized this, he came upon another Red Lady, who smiled at him politely. He paused and narrowed his eyes.

"Why aren't you attacking?" he demanded.

He hadn't expected a real response, so he nearly fell over in shock when she replied, "Why would I attack my brother?"

Sanji took a step back cautiously. "'Brother?'"

"Of course," she said. "Didn't you know? Everyone here, we're all brothers and sisters."

"Sorry, ma'am, but I'm no brother of yours," Sanji said, turning away. "And I don't belong here, so unless you can tell me where the exit is, I'll be on my way."

"There is no exit," she said.

He started walking.

"There is no reason."

He turned the corner, leaving her behind.

* * *

"'If your mind suffers, you will begin to hallucinate, and it will eventually break apart. And what's more worrying is you will not even be aware of this . . .'" Sanji slammed the book shut. "This isn't helping . . ."

He'd found a small room, the walls covered with shelves chock-full of books.

"Is there _anything_ useful?" he muttered, scanning the shelves. One volume caught his eye and he slid it from its place. It was entitled, _Collected Works of Guertena, D - F_.

"Maybe there's a clue . . ."

He started looking through the pages almost absentmindedly. _Death of the Individual_ . . . _Embodiment of Spirit_. . . _Final Stage_. . .

When he turned the next page, his eyes widened. There was an image of an all-too-familiar figure . . .

He looked to the blurb and read it silently, mouthing the words as he went along.

 _Forgotten Portrait (Year Unknown): The subject of this painting, a man sitting against a wall, was created by Guertena, as were so many subjects of his works; it is well-known that Guertena rarely used real people as a basis for his art. It is uncertain exactly when it was painted. (Oil on canvas.)_

Sanji's breathing became rather funny as he looked back at the image on the opposite page. It showed . . . it showed _him_ , in the same position and place as when he'd collapsed . . . but in the painting, as he was now, there was no blood . . . and his rose was in his pocket.

He felt nauseous and threw the book to the floor, hurrying out of the room.

This was ridiculous . . . why was _he_ in a book of Guertena's works all of a sudden? It didn't make sense . . .

He leaned against the wall and realized his legs were shaking.

It didn't make sense. He wasn't a painting . . . he was . . . he was . . .

A movement to his left made him whip his head around. One of those _dolls_ had gotten on his shoulder—he brushed it off like an insect.

"You don't look well," it said from the floor, floating so its feet dangled just above the floor. Sanji took a step back. "Are you okay?"

"Why can you talk?" Sanji whispered.

" _You_ can talk."

"I'm a human. You're—you're a—"

The doll's grin grew wider, and Sanji noticed more of its friends joining it—where had they all come from?

"You're not a human," one said.

"I don't have time for this."

"Time?" another said. "Don't be silly! Time isn't real in _this_ world!"

"I don't care," Sanji hissed, turning away.

As he walked, he noticed the dolls following him.

"Get away!"

"Want to play?" one asked, floating in front of him. He gasped and stumbled back.

"Leave me alone, you shitty little things," he snapped. "I need to get out of here."

They looked around and giggled.

"There's no exit!"  
"No way out!"  
"This is your home!"  
"Why would you want to leave?"

"This _isn't_ my home, for the love of everything . . ." Sanji muttered.

"Why wouldn't it be?" one exclaimed in surprise. "You're one of us!"

"Stop saying that."

"You're the Forgotten Portrait," one said, hovering on his shoulder. "You're our brother."

"Just because there's a painting of me doesn't make me one," Sanji snapped, though a chill ran through him. "I'm a human, I'm telling you, my blood's _red!_ I came from outside and I can get back as soon as I find the exit!"

The dolls glanced around, giggling.

"You came from outside?" one said innocently. "Tell us! What's outside like?"

"It's . . ."

Sanji hesitated.

"It's . . . warm," he said lamely. "There's . . . time. There's delicious food, kind people, and . . ."

"What sort of people?"  
"Did you have any friends?"  
"What's food like?"

Sanji's brow furrowed. A sort of fog was starting to mist up his thoughts.

"The food . . ." he murmured. "It's . . . there are all sorts of . . . kinds . . ."

He took a step back, holding his head.

"And . . . friends . . ."

His head snapped up.

"Stop this," he exclaimed. "Of course I have friends! Luffy, Nami- _san_ , Robin- _chan_ , Usopp, Chopper, that moss, Franky, and Brook!"

He shook his head as if shooing away a bothersome insect.

"Why . . . how could I ever forget them?" he muttered to himself. "I'm such an idiot . . ."

He glared at the dolls, turned on his heel, and hurried down the corridor.

* * *

"Luffy, Nami- _san_ , Robin- _chan_ , Usopp, Chopper, moss, Franky, Brook . . ."

Sanji sighed and scratched his head.

"Yeah, I remember them all," he muttered to himself, glancing around as he walked. "Luffy's captain, he's made of rubber . . . Nami- _san_ is our beautiful navigator . . ."

He turned a corner.

"That idiot moss uses three swords . . . Usopp's the sniper . . ."

He found himself at another dead-end and turned around.

"Robin- _chan_ 's our incredible historian . . . Chopper's a reindeer and a great doctor . . ."

He strode down an odd path and opened a door, finding himself in a large area with a grid-like blue road and four buildings: One straight ahead, one to his right, one to his left, and one farther back.

"Brook's our musician skeleton, and Franky's our cyborg shipwright," he finished, going into the first building. It was a cozy, house-like place, with a circular table in the first room and a small kitchen in the second. Sanji found a kettle on the stove, though there were no teabags or coffee beans to be found. He left the house.

The second building, which was the color of rotting blueberries, proved to be full of those dolls, who all turned to look at him. Sanji quickly shut the door and heard muffled laughter from behind it.

The third building he entered held a single oblong room with a frame at the end. It looked familiar . . .

Sanji frowned and approached it. The glass was shattered over the dark blue canvas, as if the painting itself had leapt out.

The placard beneath read _Forgotten Portrait_.

Suddenly light-headed, Sanji stepped back and towards the wall, sitting against it. He put his head in his knees.

It just didn't make any sense. Why would he forget his friends? Why couldn't he find the exit? And why, _why_ wasn't he hungry or thirsty?

"You seem confused."

He looked up and saw one of the dolls sitting in front of him. He flinched.

"Go away," he snapped.

"You found your portrait, then?" it exclaimed in delight, looking to the canvas on the wall.

No response.

"This _proves_ you've been here all along, doesn't it?" the doll continued. "You're a painting!"

"I'm _not_ ," Sanji hissed. "I am a _human_. My name is Sa—Sanji."

"Oh, I'm sure," the doll said in delight. "Why don't you take this and prove it?"

And there was suddenly a palette knife in its hand (it was unclear how the thing held it with no fingers). The doll offered it to Sanji.

"What's this for?" Sanji muttered, taking it despite himself.

"Show me your blood's red!" the doll exclaimed. "That's what you said, isn't it? If you're a human, you must have red blood in you!"

Sanji clenched the knife in his hand. "Fine, you psycho little shit, I've got nothing to lose anyway," he snapped. Despite this, he hesitated before stabbing himself in the shin, wincing.

"See?" he said, pulling up his pant leg and rubbing at the wound, feeling the liquid beneath his fingers. "There's blood. There's . . ."

Sanji trailed off. The liquid he felt was cool.

Feeling dread creep over him, he looked at his fingers properly, rubbing the red stuff between them. He brought them up to his nose and sniffed.

"But that's paint," the doll said. It grinned. "You're so silly."

"My rose," Sanji muttered. He took it from his pocket. "I'll heal my rose, and . . ."

He felt cold all over at the stiffness of the flower in his fingers. The rose was fake.

"God, no," he whispered. "How am I supposed to . . . how am I supposed to get rid of this . . . ?"

He glanced at the wound on his leg, red paint worming down.

"Go to your portrait!" the doll instructed. "That'll close right up if you do!"

Sanji shot a glare at it and went to the canvas. He pressed a hand to the painting underneath the shattered glass, almost instinctively, and glanced down at his leg. Before his eyes, the wound sealed itself shut.

"I told you so."

Sanji whipped around and stormed out of the room, storing the palette knife in his sleeve—just in case.

* * *

Sanji now found himself in the large white building, the final of the four in the area with the grid-like blue road. The interior walls were smooth and white, and an old palette with paint tubes and a brush lay in a corner.

Sanji sat against a wall.

"I'm a painting."

He felt somehow empty, saying it aloud, but he knew it to be true. He ran a hand through his hair.

"That does explain . . . why I haven't been hungry, or sleepy . . ."

He gritted his teeth.

"How do I _fix_ this? I was a human before . . . there's gotta be a way to turn back."

He drew his knees to his chest. "Maybe if I find the exit . . ."

With a slow sigh, he stared up at the ceiling.

"Why would I forget them?" he muttered. "And . . . where _are_ they?"

He glanced to the paint supplies in the corner, and then to the walls of the room, which suddenly resembled a blank canvas.

"Yeah, that'll work . . ."

* * *

". . . There . . ."

Sanji stepped back and admired his work. He had painted a decent likeness of the crew, minus himself, on the longest wall. Everyone but Zoro and Brook was smiling—Zoro held a scowl, and Brook had no lips.

"I guess it's not as good as . . ." He hesitated. "Not as good as it could be, but pretty good. Now I can come back here if I start forgetting again."

He tossed aside the painting supplies, though the palette knife remained tucked in his sleeve.

"Luffy," he said aloud, pointing to the painting of him. "Nami- _san_ . . . Robin- _chan_ . . ."

He went down the line. "Chopper . . . Franky . . . Usopp . . . Brook . . ."

But when he reached Zoro's, he paused.

"Moss-hair," he muttered. "Stupid swordsman . . . Neanderthal . . ."

His hand fell to his side.

"What's his _name_. . . ?"

He clenched his hands at his side.

"This is stupid," he muttered with a nervous laugh. "I see them every day . . . why would I forget their names . . . ?"

He stared at Zoro's image a moment longer, hoping something in his mind would spark.

But nothing happened.

Abruptly, he whirled around and left the room, silently promising to return soon.

* * *

One way or another, Sanji found himself back in the little house at the front of the grid-like road. To his surprise, the kettle on the stove was now full of steaming tea. Though his thirst had yet to exist again, Sanji poured himself a cup and went to sit at the table. He blew on it and took a small sip, wincing at the heat.

"Does it taste good?"

He nearly spewed what little was in his mouth and glared at the doll, grinning in the seat across from him.

"You again," he muttered.

"Want to play with us?"

"I'd rather look for the exit."

The doll tilted its head. "Why?"

"So I can be human again."

An ominous giggle. "Again?"

"I was a human," Sanji said, holding his cup, grateful for the warmth of the drink. "I may have been turned into a painting, but that means there's a way to turn back into a human."

"But you were never a human, brother."

"I'm not your brother."

"If you were a human, you must've had a name, right?" the doll continued. "What was it?"

Sanji scowled. "What a stupid question. My name is . . ."

He hesitated. "My name's . . ."

The doll's grin grew wider.

Sanji's brow furrowed, nose wrinkling as he thought.

"Look, it doesn't matter what my name is," he snapped. "None of your business is what it is! I'm telling you, I was a human before I came here, and as soon as I leave, I'll be a human again with my friends."

"You were never a human," the doll repeated. "You've always lived with us in the gallery."

"I have _not_."

"But you're a painting."

Sanji took a sip of his tea. It had cooled just enough to drink.

"Did you say you have friends?" the doll asked. " _Human_ friends?"

Sanji pursed his lips. "More or less human."

"What kind of friends don't stick by your side?"

"They'll come back for me." Sanji smiled in relief, holding onto this thought. "This place may be a goddamn labyrinth, and even if that guy doesn't have any sense of direction, we'll find each other eventually. And if they can't return . . . I'll find the exit myself."

"Is that so?"

"You won't convince me otherwise."

Sanji finished off his tea in a single gulp, disregarding manners, and stood. "I've got a mural to find."

* * *

It didn't matter what his own name was.

Sanji told himself this as he headed out of the room with the grid-like road into another part of the labyrinth entirely (certainly not where he had come from). He would surely remember his own name soon enough—his friends were more important, and when they found each other, they would be able to tell him his name.

What did it matter if he couldn't remember where he grew up? Was it so important that he searched for the missing memories of parents, or possibly lackthereof? Who _cared_ if he was unable to recall the name of the restaurant where he'd spent so many years?

His friends were far more important.

But where _were_ they?

Sanji's steps slowed as he thoughtfully chewed the inside of his cheek. If he was remembering correctly . . . there was no way Luffy would up and leave a crewmate, a _friend_ , behind. There had to be some reason he wasn't rushing in at that very moment with a battle cry, and knowing Luffy (Sanji was uncertain, but he thought he did know Luffy), it would have to be a very good reason.

"So I've gotta find the exit myself, one way or another," he muttered, picking up his pace again. "And hold onto my memories at the same time . . ."

In fact, as he waved away a few headless statues, this would be a good time to go over what he knew again—just in case.

"Luffy, Nami- _san_ , Robin- _chan_ ," he muttered to himself. "Usopp, Chopper, that moss, Franky, and Brook . . . yeah, that's everyone."

He paused by a painting of some fruit and admired it, vaguely wishing he could feel some semblance of hunger, or at least have a lighter for a smoke.

"Where've we all gone together?" he muttered, heading away with a rather sad glance back at the painting. "Islands, islands . . ."

A pause.

"'Island!'" he called, imitating Luffy's joyous tone. He grinned and headed on.

"Chopper's from some snowy place . . . got big weird mountains," he muttered to himself, rounding a corner. He made a beeline around the Blue Lady on the wall, though she merely smiled and waved.

"There was some shitty guy where Nami- _san's_ from," he continued. "That big desert island . . ."

He hesitated.

"Robin- _chan_ . . . did she live there?" he muttered. "Didn't we meet her there? Shit . . ."

Sanji sighed. "Anyway . . . there was some shadowy place with . . ." He frowned. "Who was there . . . ? Didn't something important happen on that island?"

He sat against a wall.

"Gotta focus," he muttered. "That shit swordsman . . . gotta hold on . . ."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Moss-head, shitty swordsman, Neanderthal, directionless oaf, third-rate swordsman—"

His eyes flew open.

"Zoro!"

He grinned.

"Zoro," he repeated. "Oh, god, never thought I'd be so happy to hear that shit's _name_ —Zoro, his name's _Zoro_ —"

He sighed in relief and slumped against the wall, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from his mind, despite that he'd _remembered_ something important, not _forgotten_ something . . .

"Luffy, Zoro, Nami- _san_ , Robin- _chan_ , Chopper, Usopp, Franky," he said out loud. "Including myself, that's all . . ." He counted again. "All eight of us!" He grinned. "Just you wait, guys, I'll hold out yet!"

* * *

Sanji found a dark red room with a painting palette, paintbrush, and tube of blue paint lying near the wall. He studied the items and soon took to painting on the blank wall like it was a canvas, absently swirling the brush around.

"Oh, you're having fun, aren't you?"

He glanced down to the doll which had approached him. "Leave me be."

The doll grinned, floating up to rest upon his shoulder. "Isn't this place fun?"

"No."

"Do you still think you came from the outside? You're so silly."

Sanji was silent.

"Tell me about these friends of yours," it prodded. "What're their names? What're they like? Where'd you meet?"

"There's Luffy," Sanji said automatically. "Nami- _san_ , Robin- _chan_ , Usopp, Chopper, Zoro, and . . ."

"And?"

"The cyborg," he said, his paintbrush slowing. "He's got blue hair."

"What's his name?"

"None of your _business_."

Sanji clenched the paintbrush so hard it was a wonder it didn't break.

"Luffy's reckless, always smiling and asking for food," he continued. "Nami- _san_ and Robin- _chan_ are so smart and brave and beautiful. Usopp's a sniper. Chopper's a reindeer and a damn good doctor. Zoro's a shit swordsman. That cyborg's a . . . shipwright, or something."

"Or something?" the doll exclaimed as if surprised. "You're not sure? Who doesn't know something like that about their own friends?"

"You shut up," Sanji hissed, trying to push away the fog beginning to cloud his mind again.

"Maybe you weren't really friends."

His brush slowed again.

"You didn't really come from the outside, did you? Don't lie to yourself."

"Stop," he hissed, sorting his thoughts blindly through the fog.

"It's okay," the doll said reassuringly. "None of us remember when we were created! Don't worry if you don't, either!"

"I wasn't _created_ like _you_ ," Sanji snapped. "I was _born_."

"Who is your mother?"

Silence.

"Who is your father?"

"I can't remember," Sanji hissed, snapping the paintbrush in two. "I _can't remember_. Are you happy, you little shit?!"

The doll only smiled. "Your father is Weiss Guertena, and you are the Forgotten Portrait."

Sanji stared blankly at the wall.

"Would you like some tea?"

* * *

A table had mysteriously come into existence in the center of the room, complete with a steaming pot of tea and three teacups. Sanji poured himself a cup, and, as was his nature, one for the doll. He sat and held the cup, still too hot to sip.

"You need to accept this as your home."

Sanji looked at the doll, not even bothering to scowl. "This isn't my home. I need to get back to my friends."

"Your friends are _here_ ," the doll insisted. "No one would hurt you in this place."

Sanji cautiously sipped his tea and found it warm.

"You won't ever die here. You don't need to worry about sunshine, food, or water. Everyone is your friend."

Sanji set his cup down. "Isn't the risk of dying what makes life worth living?"

"Who said a silly thing like that?"

"Risking your life for a goal . . . god knows I don't know what my goal is, but if I can get out, I can help my friends achieve theirs. I think that's worth leaving this place for."

"Why would you risk your life for a dream?"

Sanji shrugged. "I couldn't tell you who showed me that, but I'm sure it's important."

"Then what are your friend's goals?"

"Couldn't tell you that, either."

"Who wants to risk their life for something they can't remember?"

Sanji's cup was half-empty at this point. "I do. If I know those guys, and I think I do . . . their dreams are important."

The doll leaned forward to sip from its cup like a child. "Those guys, huh?"

"Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Chopper, and Robin," Sanji said automatically. "I know things are shitty for me right now, but if I can just keep holding on to them . . . things will turn out well."

He looked up. "Come to think of it . . . there was something I did to help me remember them, wasn't there . . . ?"

He shook his head and stood, the rest of his tea forgotten. "I hope I'll find it again."

* * *

Sanji wandered the unfamiliar halls, his mind drifting off to other things.

"I wonder why we were together?" he mused aloud. "We were at sea, weren't we? Travelling, or something . . . maybe trying to reach our goals."

He scratched his head and paused by a Blue Lady on the wall.

"Where are you off to?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh, nowhere in particular," Sanji replied, smiling. "No, actually—do you know which way the exit is?"

She giggled. "There is no exit, silly."

"I see. Thank you for your time."

He went on his way.

"No exit, huh?" he muttered. "How did I get here in the first place? I thought everyone was with me . . . am I remembering wrong . . . ?"

He came to a fork in the path and chose the left one.

"Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Robin, and . . ."

He stopped.

"Am I forgetting someone . . . ?"

* * *

Hours, days, weeks . . . there was no way of telling how much time had passed at this point. Occasionally Sanji would try for a nap, but this only served to make him more disorientated, for he had no idea how long he'd been asleep, and he would be in a different place when he awoke.

"Brother . . ."

Sanji paused in front of a doll in the hallway.

"Hello," he said with a smile, kneeling. "I think I'm looking for someone. Do you know where I can find Luffy, Nami, Robin, and . . ." He hesitated. "Someone else? His name starts with Z."

"I don't," the doll replied, shaking its head. "You don't perhaps mean one of the Ladies, or Lady Taking the Newspaper?"

"I don't know," Sanji admitted. "Perhaps."

"Keep walking and you're sure to find who you're looking for," the doll said as Sanji stood.

"I'm sure you're right."

* * *

Sanji found a table with a teapot and teacups in the center, as well as a few dolls in the seats. He poured himself and them drinks and sat, blowing on it.

"How are you, brother?" one of the dolls asked politely.

"I'm fine, thank you," Sanji replied with a smile. "Say, do you know where I could find Luffy, Nami, and Robin? I'm afraid I couldn't tell you what they look like . . ."

They shook their heads.

"No?" Sanji said with a little frown. "Alright, then."

"Would you like to play hide and seek after tea?" one of the dolls suggested.

"Certainly!" Sanji exclaimed, smiling again. "That sounds lovely!"

* * *

Sanji sat against a wall, flipping through a book listing Guertena's works D through F.

"There's Death of the Individual," he noted with a smile. "And Embodiment of Spirit!"

He adjusted his own rose, nestled in his pocket.

"And here's me!" he exclaimed, grinning when he reached the page for _Forgotten Portrait_. "I wonder why that became my title? I'm sure Father had a good reason . . ."

He put the book away after another moment.

"I suppose I should keep looking for Luffy," he said at last.

* * *

Sanji absentmindedly doodled swirls on the red wall in blue paint, glancing to the table in the center of the room, all set up for a tea party.

"I'll go out and ask the others about joining me," he said aloud. He paused when he thought he heard voices outside the door, but shrugged it off.

And then the screams reached his ears. He dropped his paintbrush and palette and hurried outside.

To his surprise, eight utterly unfamiliar figures were being attacked by his brethren. There were two women, one with orange hair and one with dark; a small creature which could have been a raccoon; one who reminded him of _Tryst after Death;_ a large man with blue hair, and two smaller ones with green hair and a long nose, respectively; and a man with a straw hat upon his head.

"STOP!"

* * *

"I do hope they'll all stay, after all," Sanji said to himself as he strolled along, adjusting the green and pink roses inside his jacket.

He came upon a white building near where his portrait was. With a frown, he stopped and entered.

To his surprise, he found paintings of everyone he'd seen in the large room before.

"What a good sign!" he exclaimed with a smile. "But they're missing something . . ."

He brought out a paintbrush and painted on everyone holding their respective rose.

"There we go," he said, satisfied, and left the building.

* * *

The fire engulfed Sanji's body, and he screamed, curling into a ball from sheer pain and panic—there was everyone, there were Luffy and Zoro and Nami and Robin and Usopp and Chopper and Brook and Franky and _himself_ he was _Sanji_ after all but here he was dying and maybe some part of him deserved it for what he'd done to them to his _friends_ —and suddenly there were hands holding his own where were they coming from who was saying his name who was that saying his name over the crackling of fire—? Sanji, Sanji, _Sanji_

* * *

" _Sanji!"_

Sanji awoke in his own bed with a gasp, his hair damp with sweat and his eyes darting wildly.

"Sanji," the person said again. "Sanji, we're here, it's okay."

Sanji blinked, slowly coming to. He found the light on and his bed surrounded by the others—Luffy held one of his hands, and Usopp held the other. Chopper was near his head, checking his temperature, while Franky and Brook knelt on opposite sides near the foot of the bed. Everyone held a concerned expression (except for Brook).

"You must've had a really bad nightmare," Usopp whispered.

"Sort of," Sanji murmured, closing his eyes again. "More like memories."

The others glanced around.

"Luffy . . ."

"Yeah?" Luffy said.

"Usopp, Chopper, Zoro, Nami, Robin, Franky, Brook . . ." Sanji opened his eyes again. "Did I forget anyone?"

They shook their heads.

"And my name's Sanji?"

"Yeah," Luffy said. "You had a nightmare about that place?"

Sanji nodded. "It's fine. It's not a big deal."

"You woke us all up," Chopper protested. "It is _so_ a big deal."

"Right, then," Franky said, standing. "I know what to do."

He made Usopp move, leaned down, and picked up Sanji.

"Put me down," Sanji protested, weakly kicking Franky's arm.

"Nope. We're going to the kitchen."

"Oh, good idea!" Luffy exclaimed. "Food always helps!"

"I said put me down! Guys, help me out here!"

"This is for your own good," Brook said solemnly.

* * *

"You need the others?" Franky asked, setting Sanji on the couch. "The girls are in their room, and Bro Zoro's out on watch."

Sanji shook his head. "It's fine. I'll see them in the morning . . . and I wouldn't want to wake any of them."

Usopp snickered at the subtle jab. Chopper grabbed a blanket and threw it helpfully over Sanji's head.

"That does help the decor," Brook remarked. Sanji adjusted the blanket with a scowl.

"Uh—do you want some tea, or some toast?" Usopp offered.

"Both, I guess," Sanji said, giving up the fight.

"I want meat," Luffy announced.

Usopp looked to Sanji.

"I made some jerky last week," Sanji said. "It's in the pantry."

Usopp busied himself behind the counter while Chopper crawled up on the couch next to Sanji.

"Do you wanna talk?" he asked.

Sanji shrugged. "Not much to talk about."

"No?" Franky said skeptically. "Not even when you were screaming in your sleep?"

"Franky- _san_ , really," Brook said reproachfully.

"Zoro was the first to go."

They turned back to Sanji. Luffy sat next to him.

"I couldn't remember his name," Sanji admitted. "I realized I was . . . losing my memories, and then . . . by the time I remembered his name . . . I'd forgotten Brook."

Brook sat at the table as Usopp brought out the snacks. He tossed the jerky to Luffy and gently handed Sanji the toast and tea.

"Thanks," Sanji murmured, holding the warm cup. He was about ready to take a sip when he froze, staring into the cup.

"What kind of tea is this?" he whispered.

"Oh, it's just lemon," Usopp said, "with some honey. Sorry, I know you like black tea, but lemon's supposed to be soothing, so I thought—"

"Thank you." Sanji took a small sip. "The tea in that place . . . it all tasted the same."

"Can I have some?" Luffy asked hopefully. Sanji held the cup out of reach.

"I should've realized the first time . . . that the tea wasn't real," he added. "It came out of nowhere."

"Wasn't real?" Chopper repeated, frowning. "But . . ."

Sanji pulled him in for a hug. "Never mind that."

He sighed, staring into space as he took another sip of the warm tea.

"I forgot Franky next," he said idly. "After that, I think it was Chopper."

Chopper leaned against him.

"A lot of the rest's a blur," Sanji admitted. "One way or another . . . everyone was gone." He shook his head. "At the start . . . I kept holding on to the thought that you guys wouldn't leave me behind. That you'd come back eventually, or you were already there and we just hadn't seen each other yet."

The others looked around guiltily.

"We're sorry," Usopp whispered. He sat on the floor near the table. "We knew something was wrong, but—"

"I'm not blaming you. I should've worked harder to hold on to everything."

"That place was bad for all of us," Luffy said. "It's not your fault."

Sanji shook his head. "If I'd only come through in the first place—"

Luffy smacked him lightly. "Yeah, that was your fault. But whatever happened after that wasn't."

Sanji took a deep breath. "This is so stupid. I thought I'd been doing so much better lately, and now _this_ . . ."

"You have, though," Franky said. "Nightmares are pretty normal. I still get the occasional vision of getting hit by that train all over again."

"Pardon?" Brook said in alarm.

"Nothing."

"I've had nightmares, too," Usopp admitted. "Daytime's better, and I'm pretty much recovered . . . but . . ."

"That's my fault, isn't it?" Sanji murmured. "Since I put everyone through that—"

"I'm going to smack you for real if you keep that up," Luffy threatened. "We've been through this, stupid. That wasn't really you, and we're not blaming you for it."

Sanji took a bite of his toast.

"Don't worry about us too much," Chopper insisted. "Nami can talk almost all the time now, and Robin's arm is totally fine again. Plus, Zoro's black eye is gone, even though that wasn't you."

Luffy grinned proudly. "I've got a good punch, don't I?"

"That's not something to brag about in this case!" Usopp exclaimed. "He could barely see out of that eye for three days!"

"Yeah, but he's fine now."

Sanji chuckled. "You could throw him off a building and he'd live, Usopp."

"That's not the point!"

A knock on the door made everyone look up, and it swung open to reveal Nami and Robin.

"Having a party?" Robin asked.

Sanji smiled at the sight of them. "Not really, but would you like to join us?"

"No," Nami muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Just wondered what you were up to."

Despite this statement, she and Robin came in and sat at the table. Usopp ran to get them coffee.

"So . . . you had a nightmare?" Robin asked Sanji.

Sanji nodded.

"We're having a 'Make-Sanji-Talk-About-His-Problems' meeting," Luffy announced. Sanji threw him a scowl.

"Just the ones from that time?" Nami asked. "If not, there's a _lot_ more to cover than just the gallery."

Sanji gave her a look of mock hurt, but soon joined in the laughter from Luffy, Usopp, and Franky.

"Anything you wanted to say?" Robin added to Sanji.

He shrugged. "Nothing I've already said."

"Okay," Luffy said, standing. "I declare a midnight feast!"

"Luffy- _san_ , it's three in the morning," Brook whispered.

"I declare a three-in-the-morning feast!"

Sanji rolled his eyes.

"And Sanji doesn't have to cook! We'll have crackers and stuff instead!"

"Don't tell me when not to cook!" Sanji snapped, standing with the blanket still wrapped around him. He set his toast and tea on the table.

"Fried potatoes!" Usopp exclaimed.

"Cotton candy!" Chopper jumped off the couch.

"Lots of meat!" Luffy declared.

"With cola," Franky added.

"Should someone go wake Zoro?" Robin murmured.

"'S his own fault he's sleeping on watch," Nami pointed out, yawning. "Sanji- _kun_ , orange juice."

"Coming right up!"

The following hour was spent with a good feast. Zoro came down, alerted by the smell, and joined in without a word.

When everyone began yawning, and Chopper fell asleep at the table, they agreed to go back to bed and let themselves sleep in a little bit.

Sanji had no more nightmares when he went back to sleep.


End file.
